


Don't Look At Me Like That

by Eristastic



Category: Farethere City
Genre: Character Study, Child Death, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8241709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eristastic/pseuds/Eristastic
Summary: Michibiki doesn't mind responsibilities, but he does mind responsibilities like this. But that's fine. It's all part of the job.
[Spoilers for if you don't get all of Karakoro's flags]





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been dying inside over Karakoro for weeks, and I have this incredible tendency to forget at least one flag of his every single playthrough, so here we are.

“I was a step too late,” Michibiki says lightly, because he says all things lightly. He doesn’t feel light right now, but when has that ever meant anything? He does things lightly, slippery, slithering out of troublesome things like feelings, whether he feels like it or not.

And these are kids he’s dealing with: though Pigula hasn’t changed his expression, he’s reaching a spindly little hand out towards Karakoro as if unsure if he should touch the other boy’s shoulder or not. It’s the slightest admission of weakness, barely visible in how the twig-like fingers shake. So Michibiki just sighs and says, “Ah, Pigula? I’m terribly sorry after you went through all this, but… Leave the rest to me, alright?”

And there’s only time for Pigula’s already wide eye to widen a fraction before he disappears, just as Shouta turns back to his original body. And then it’s just the two of them. And Michibiki’s used to this.

The hospital smells exactly how hospitals do, and the clinical sterility of it all is only barely marred by the stench of death. The room is impersonal, empty, and the lights are too bright, but the shadow in between Michibiki and Shouta doesn’t fade. It’s there, a stain, and Shouta stares at it like he wants to rub it away but has no idea where to start.

Michibiki smiles as best he can. “You’ve become aware, haven’t you?”

Shouta nods, his eyes fixed on the shadow. There’s only the interminable whine of a flatline outside, and then the crunch of paper as Shouta shifts his weight, shuffling on the letters beneath his feet. “I know now,” he says in a small voice. “Figyu…” He shakes his head and tries again. “Figured it out.”

“Yes, you did,” Michibiki says gently. “You’re dead. In fact, everyone in Farethere City is. Since you’ve become aware, there are two choices now: go on the Path to Rebirth, though I wouldn’t recommend that one, or stay here.” He swallows, trying for an even softer voice. “Won’t you stay?”

Shouta doesn’t move. In the bright lights, his eyes are shining too much, and he still hasn’t looked away from the shadow hanging from the ceiling. Michibiki wonders if he’s read the letters under his feet. Maybe there’s no need: maybe he remembers.

“M’gonna…go,” Shouta says.

“Go?”

“Yeah,” he nods once, and then again, more vigorously. “Can’t stay here. M’not…m’nowhere. Don’t belong.”

“I wouldn’t recommend the Path to Rebirth,” Michibiki says again. “There’s not much chance you’ll get reborn, you know? Very few people do. It’s just going to be long and painful and–”  

Shouta shakes his head, screwing his eyes up and balling his hands in the hem of his shirt. Michibiki catches himself expecting the wobbly sound of the boy’s head bobbing about on his shoulders, but the idea doesn’t sound so endearing here as it would back in Farethere. The shadow’s neck hangs limply from its noose a scant distance away from him, and he just feels sick.

“Not scared!!” Shouta assures him. “Night…not scary!! So this…not scary!! Not scared!!”

And Michibiki believes him, regardless of how terrified Shouta looks. If there were ever two kids Michibiki could believe had never felt fear in their lives, it’s Shouta and Pigula. It’s not a good thing.

“M’gonna go,” Shouta says with conviction, staring up at Michibiki. “Gotta!!”

Michibiki wants to ask why, he wants to persuade him not to, but the latter isn’t quite allowed and the former… Well. If he was someone else, he thinks he might be crying. If he was Gilbert, he would be, or Luna, or Hiro, or Helpa. But he doesn’t want to think about what Helpa would say here.

All he says (lightly) is, “Are you sure?”

Shouta pauses, and for a second Michibiki feels a little hope, but it’s strangled to silence the second he sees Shouta’s eyes. It’s the expression of a child looking to an adult for help, and Michibiki can’t help him here. For all Shouta and Pigula are alike sometimes, Michibiki knows without even considering the question that Pigula would never look at him like this. It would be easier with Pigula, because then he wouldn’t have to see a child close their eyes, shake their head, and summon up courage they shouldn’t have to wield. Pigula wouldn’t show any of that.

But Shouta does, and now his fists are by his sides, his eyes full of fire, as if he wasn’t about to cry a moment ago. Maybe it’s better this way. If he makes his own decisions, Michibiki won’t have to make them, and he’s not allowed to do that anyway. He can only smile and finish the job.

The smile’s important, of course.

 

He’s tired when he gets back to Farethere City and he sends up silent gratitude that Pigula picked him a Seabottom Flower earlier. Maybe he’ll actually be able to get to sleep tonight, rather than just staring up at emptiness for hours. Maybe. Let’s not get our hopes up.

He meets Jekyll on the way through the city streets, and stops to say goodnight, though he still feels a bit sick. Appearances and all that. What should have ended with a casual greeting promises to take much longer when Jekyll relaxes in place. Michibiki is genuinely surprised: he hadn’t been expecting this kind of attack from someone like Jekyll.

“We’re all off to Aquarium Bar,” he says, brushing hair out of his face. The black glistens under the streetlights’ glow. “You coming? Looks like it’s going to be a party.”

Of course it is. Of course tonight. Of course. Like it’s instinct, Michibiki puts his hands together and makes an interested sound, agreeing cheerfully (if lethargically) and following Jekyll down the street. On the doorstep, the sounds of laughter already audible, he swallows and glides in.

Once in the bar, he does his best, and after a while it stops being his best and just becomes him. It’s easy to forget when you’re surrounded by drink and bad singing. He joins in conversations, and laughs, and chats, and even dances with Luna a bit towards the end of the evening. Pigula – a good little kid – is in bed, but Sana’s never tried to stop her sister coming out, as long as she doesn’t drink.

And if he doesn’t speak much with Helpa or Docta, nobody notices. And if, when he leaves the bar, he feels flooded with guilt for having enjoyed himself, nobody notices. _He_ barely notices. This kind of thing happens: you just have to get used to it.

He got used to it years ago, but that doesn’t stop Shouta’s eyes from plaguing another sleepless night.


End file.
